Snails and Ketchup

On Friday I watched a physical theatre performance entitled 'Snails and Ketchup' by a hearing-impaired artiste Ramesh. It was a last minute plan hatched by Becky and me and I feel privileged to have watched it. I last watched Ramesh perform more than 10 years ago. But now, as then, I was struck most of all, by his humility, affability and sweet-naturedness that somehow transcended the physical space between the stage and reached the audience. He played 4 characters in a dysfunctional family and the way in which he portrayed the different characters was remarkable. Oh, I forget - he played 5 characters ... the snails too! 

One moment in particular was poignant for me. Married to an uncaring, harsh man, the mother copes by silencing her hurt and the hurts of her children. Ramesh conveyed this through miming her sewing up her lips. That's the moment that stayed with me.

I Know You Love Me

 

"Even when I fail You, I know You love me." Who else Lord, but You?

Encouraged

I have a meeting with a poet this morning. I googled him to prepare for our meeting, so I won't be an ignoramus, and learnt this is his favourite quote: "Nada te turbe, solo Dios basta" (St Teresa of Avila).

It means - "Nothing shall disturb you; God is enough." 

I like this man already.

Why

Sometimes, I wonder - if I had lived in Biblical times, who would I have been most like? I wonder if I would have even followed Jesus, because I would have been suspicious. I would have questioned; I would have scorned. 

I hope, though, that Jesus would have sought me out like he sought out the Samaritan woman at the well. And if He had, I know I would have been Martha, rushing around getting things done - not the Mary that I like to think I would have been.  And I understand dear doubting Thomas - I can almost hear myself saying exactly what he did, "unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe". Such disdain, such foolish self-confidence, I know I am capable of. 

On Sunday, I befriended a visitor to church and there was a moment, when she asked me, why did I become a Christian. And I missed the opportunity of that moment. I was tongue-tied. I couldn't explain. The Bible says, to always be ready to give a reason for my belief. Yet, at that moment, all I could say was "It's a long story". Because it is. It's a long story of a God who chased after me, a God who loved me even when I scorned Him, a God who intervened and turned me away from sin, a God who continued to hold me even when I doubted, when I faltered, when I failed Him. 

I've been thinking of that moment these past two days and wish I had had an answer ready for her. But I can't rehearse. That seems too glib. The words don't come out pat. I need to tell her, I am a Samaritan woman who has sinned again and again because I was searching for Someone to trust, believe and  hope in. I am Thomas who doubts and yet, has Him telling me again and again, "Do not disbelieve, but believe". I am Peter, who says "I do not know him" yet never have Him leave me. I am Gomer, faithless, yet wrapped up in Love. That's why.

A Favourite Poem

When You Are Old

When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of  the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

- W. B. Yeats

Staycation

J and I had a staycation on Sunday. For the uninitiated, that is a vacation in a local hotel, without actually leaving the country. This has been a family tradition for us long before the term was invented and it is something we still like doing, though now we have spilt over from a single room with a king-sized bed to a king-sized bed with an extra bed to 2 connecting rooms :) Strangely, for reasons I can't fathom, I usually feeling a little embarrassed telling anyone we are checking into a local hotel. But we have always had good times during our hotel getaways. 

Even before the children came, D and I liked staying in hotels and the old ANA Hotel (now no longer there, up on Nassim Hill) was an old family favourite because we could get a room with buffet breakfast for $100 a night. When the children came, staycations were a good way to have a holiday, without the hassle of travel, leaving home yet with the comforts of home within easy reach.

And both J & R love staycations. There is something about the smooth luxury of hotel sheets, the thick towels, the bouncy beds, the fluffy pillows that entices. Then there is the decadence of housekeeping and the miracle of fresh sheets and towels every day. For the girls, four stars must be aligned before it can be a described as a great holiday - at least one meal delivered by room service, a bath in the bath-tub, a buffet breakfast and everyone piling into the bed and watching a movie! :)

I was quite nostalgic this weekend. Things have changed, yet not quite changed. The pleasures of the hotel stay were the same - thick towels, smooth sheets, wonderful service. Yet the anonymity of the room struck me vividly and I found myself thinking about others who had lain where I lay, looking out at the skyline. I missed you, R. You would have been appalled at how much of time we spent just sleeping... 

Yes, we slept a great deal, ate the crepes we like at Out of the Pan, tried to watch a pay-per-view movie but that was foiled by a faulty movie and then by the time the hotel fixed it I was too sleepy to watch it (yes, despite all the sleeping done before that), read in bed and talked. It was a good, slow, together time. I'm glad mommy-daughter times still feel the same :)

 The view from our room at Swissotel the Stamford

Our take-out dinner